


Work Week

by cappedbicuspid



Category: Homestuck, Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cappedbicuspid/pseuds/cappedbicuspid
Summary: Problem Sleuth examines a case of ennui, over an average work week.





	Work Week

Sunday was, without a doubt, the most nightmarish day of the week. It was the day Sleuth laid in bed late into the morning and stared at the ceiling, dreading the work week with all the passion he'd pour into said work week by Thursday afternoon. He'd just lay there and think for hours. Maybe not too many hours, but too long. Longer than he'd admit.   
  
He'd have woken up at nine, wouldn't be up until ten. By ten, he'd decided he was doing nothing all day and slid into the kitchen for breakfast. Sweats and an old shirt made for a decent enough set of pajamas for a gumshoe off duty, with no plans. He'd probably take calls and arrange to meet with clients Monday morning. That's what Sundays were meant for. That isn't to say that this ideal Sunday would go as planned, but that's what he'd hope for.   
  
By eleven, he'd have eaten and read the paper, and he'd be sitting on the sofa and reading over personal letters and he'd write until noon. Best have all this done, so as to send these letters off on Monday morning. If he finished them by noon, he'd have all day to do as he pleased.   
  
After noon was what housework he needed to do. Everything was gathered up got tomorrow evening's trip to the laundromat, sweeping, dishes, he may be a bit too busy to do it all later. One rolled by unseen, two brought him back to the paper he'd already read. He had plenty to do, plenty to keep him busy, but he'd yet to change out of his pajamas. To be fair, it all felt like he was waiting for something or someone. Sleuth couldn't put this finger on it, no, he had no idea why he kept looking at the clock.   
  
By two fifteen, he gave up his mysterious wait and wandered to the kitchen again. It was high time he made lunch. By two thirty, the door with its broken lock was creaking open. 

That's what he'd been waiting for. Given, Sleuth would've heard it, if he wasn't preoccupied with the recipe book he was looking through. Not to say that he was any good at cooking with his inadequately equipped kitchen, but that couldn't stop him from bullshitting whatever he could to make food. A guy's got to eat, see, and steak dinner isn't economically feasible every night. Maybe tomorrow night, but for now, lunch was some egg-in-bread that he didn't think he was going to be able to perfect any time in the near future .

Slick would be behind him in no time, mumbling in his ear. Over his own humming, he heard every word and, over his better judgement, he leaned back against Slick. Over his decision not to do anything, he let things happen and, over his resolve to actually cook a meal, turned off the stove to pay attention to the things he was hearing. 

Of course, he listened and of course, he heard. Of course, by three, he'd be drinking with Slick and by five, he wouldn't care about the rest of the evening. He'd be lying in bed sometime, with no regard for the clock, with the awareness that he'd regret it all in the morning.


End file.
